


Field Test

by coffeejunkii



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clint Feels, Feelstide, M/M, Phil Needs a Hug, Tony Secretly Takes Care of Everyone, sleeping bag snuggles, vague Agents of SHIELD spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:05:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeejunkii/pseuds/coffeejunkii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It said everything about Phil's life that he felt happy to be stuck in a snowstorm in the middle of nowhere, but he had Clint in his arms, and no one would interrupt them for another few hours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Field Test

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Feelstide 2013, for the prompt "Caught in the snow and snuggling to keep warm (it's a classic for a reason)."
> 
> Many thanks to Rurounihime for betaing and for Nerdwegian for Norway-related info.

“Aww, snow, no.”

Phil had to agree with Clint's disgruntled remark. The light snowfall of the past hour was turning into heavy wet flakes, and the wind was picking up. “We need to find shelter.”

Clint stopped to scan their surroundings. “There.”

Phil could only make out a dark line at the far end of the field they'd been crossing. “And what exactly is there?”

“Two pine trees toppled against a boulder.”

“Perfect.”

They fell back into step. With any luck, the Bus would be here in less than twelve hours and this godforsaken mission would finally come to an end. At first, Phil had been excited to request Clint's help, but that excitement had been tampered by everything that had gone wrong. At least Clint had taken out their target, even if that had taken five days and ended in an EMP blast that left any machinery and vehicle in the area unusable. Which is why they had been trekking through Østmarka for the past three hours in the search of a space large enough to let the Bus touch down.

“Gonna call in the Cavalry now?” Clint asked.

“You bet. As soon as we're settled in and connect to the satellite.” Phil very much hoped that there would be a connection. Stark had sworn that Phil's new phone would get a signal anywhere on the planet, and had looked insulted when Phil dared to ask whether or not that included internet access. (It did.)

As they came closer to the tree line, Phil could see that the fallen pines would make for a sufficient shelter from the storm. They had crossed over one another during their fall, creating a thick roof of branches. The leaves beneath the fallen pines were still dry; a good sign indeed.

“This will work,” Phil said. “Let's see what Stark's sleeping bag has to offer.”

Clint ducked into the shelter ahead of Phil. “As long as it keeps us warm, I don't care.”

Phil smiled. Clint was wearing an absurd amount of SHIELD-engineered layers, and it wasn't even that cold considering that it was snowing. “I'll keep you warm.”

“You better.” 

The sleeping bag had been compressed into a rather small square, but once Phil unzipped it, it puffed up into a cocoon that would offer them plenty of room. 

“Another win for Stark Industries.” Clint sat down on the sleeping bag and started to unlace his boots. “Huh, I think this has cushioning built into it. I can't feel any twigs or stones.”

“Hmm.” Phil was withholding judgment until they'd submitted the material to a thorough field test. Besides, FitzSimmons could probably engineer an equally nice sleeping bag. 

They stowed their gear, jackets, and shoes. Phil tossed a few field rations and his phone into the bag. He wrapped his gun in his jacket, keeping it within reach just outside the sleeping bag. When he climbed inside, he noticed that the lining was made out of soft fleece, and that there was indeed some sort of cushion built in; he couldn't even feel the ground. With Clint's help, he zipped the bag shut. It completely covered them, but a see-through panel above their heads let in the fading daylight. Phil could also feel air flowing into the small space, but it lacked any chill.

“How does this not collapse on us?” Clint poked at the top of sleeping bag cocoon, which formed a dome about half a foot above them.

“Honestly? I don't care. But I'm sure Stark can offer you a long-winded explanation once you're back at the Tower.”

“Eh.” Clint wiggled closer to Phil. “No offense to your super-fancy mattress, but this is nearly as good.”

Phil had to agree with him. It felt heavenly after their cramped quarters of the past few nights. They had slept tucked into a small space between two exhaust vents on top of a building with an otherwise flat roof. It had been the only way to keep out of sight. “Your mattress at the Tower isn't exactly shabby, either.”

Clint curled against Phil's side. “Yeah, but I like your place.” His hand settled on Phil's chest.

Even though Clint most likely didn't mean anything by it, his remark still reminded Phil of how little time he spent in his apartment these days. It had been three weeks since he'd last been home, and even then he'd gotten called out on a new mission early. “You can always stay at my place when I'm not there.”

“Really?” 

Clint sounded so hopeful. It made Phil want to say all kinds of sappy reassuring things. It wouldn't do if Clint could still doubt that there was anything of Phil's he didn't already have. But that wasn't really how they interacted. Deeds rather than words. “Sure. When things get too crazy at the Tower, or—” _When you miss me._ “You still have your keys?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Phil folded his hand over Clint's. “Anytime.”

“I'm going to take a nap. You should, too.” Clint wrapped himself further around Phil, tucking his face in the crook of Phil's neck. He'd gotten even less rest over the past few days than Phil.

It was so tempting to let himself be swept up into Clint's warmth. But one of them should stay awake, and there was work to be done. “I'll text May our coordinates first. And take some initial notes for my report.” 

“Hopeless,” Clint mumbled.

He was asleep two minutes later. Clint didn't trust many people enough to fall asleep around them. Cat naps, sure. But actual sleep? Only a handful. It still gave Phil a little thrill to be among those few.

Phil's phone connected to the satellite without problems, and May's response was nearly instant. They were already on their way and would be there in less than six hours. Phil typed notes into his phone until the words blurred in front of his eyes. Darkness had fallen around them, leaving the screen as the only source of light. Sleep was probably a good idea. 

**

Phil woke up to Clint leaning over him, feeling along his side. “Hmm?” 

“Sorry. I was just looking for some of MREs that you stashed earlier. I'm starving. Didn't mean to wake you.”

“Oh, uh—” There was something squashed under his hip. “Here.” Phil pushed the foil packets in the direction where he suspected Clint's hand was.

“Thanks.” 

There were some rustling noises—cloth, rather than foil—and then muted light spilled from the smallest flashlight Phil had ever seen. He squinted.

“I'll get crumbs all over, but...” Clint shrugged and bit into the bar. “Oh, sweet sweet taste of protein-laced cardboard.”

“Give me some?” Phil hadn't realized how hungry he was until he saw Clint eating.

Clint handed over half the bar, and split the second one, too. They ate in silence. The wind whistled through the branches above, brushing the pine needles against one another in soft swishes. Phil wondered if it was still snowing.

“'m cold,” Clint said when they were done.

“It's probably 70 degrees in here through some miracle of science.”

“Still. Cold.” 

One of the greatest contradictions about Clint was his love of sleeveless shirts and his near-constant need for more warmth. When Phil had suggested that he wear a shirt with sleeves, Clint had muttered something about “range of motion” and “feeling confined.”

Phil gently pushed at Clint's shoulder. “Turn.”

Clint rolled onto his side, and Phil did his best to fit himself as closely to him as he could. “Better?”

“Hmm.” Clint took Phil's hand in his. “Want me to turn off the light?”

“Sure. We have a few more hours until the Bus gets here.”

The flashlight clicked off. Phil felt himself drifting closer to sleep. He couldn't hold back a sigh of contentment. It said everything about his life that he felt happy to be stuck in a snowstorm in the middle of nowhere, but he had Clint in his arms, and no one would interrupt them for another few hours.

“Phil?”

“Hmm.”

A few moments passed before Clint spoke again. “Do you know how long it's been since we fell asleep together?”

Apparently, Phil wasn't the only one with maudlin thoughts. “Too long.”

“Yeah.”

There was resignation in Clint's voice that didn't sit well with Phil. “I'm sorry that I'm away so much. If there was a way—” Clint knew all this. Knew there was no way to change how little they saw of each other, not unless he gave up the team. Besides, Clint was busy, too, but somehow ended up being called out on Avengers duty less often than Phil found himself on the Bus.

“I know. Still sucks, though.” 

“It does.” 

They had only just regained some fragile stability in their relationship. It had been difficult to work past Clint's anger at finding Phil still alive when they were rarely in the same place. But they had managed—in part because Phil had put his foot down a month ago and gotten a long weekend off to spend with Clint. 

“Miss you all the time,” Clint whispered.

Phil pressed his face against Clint's shoulder. It was too much to bear on top of everything else. Managing a team that was still mostly five separate people. Doubting the usefulness of SHIELD hierachy. The dreams about—about Tahiti.

If only he could promise Clint that he'd try harder to be home more often. But one of the reasons why they fit together so well was that they both understood the demands of their jobs, and how much they loved what they did. Clint would never ask him to give that up, and he'd never ask Clint, either. But it was hard. Especially when they both admitted to each other how difficult it really was.

“Me too.” Phil didn't know what else to say.

Clint shifted in his arms, onto his back. He pulled Phil closer, feeling for his lips with his fingers. The kiss was awkward at first, their mouths misaligned, but it didn't matter. There was so much that Clint managed to coax out of Phil when they kissed—odd little whines, the occasional sigh, the desperate need to get closer even when they already fit tightly together. 

When Clint's hips started pushing up against Phil, he drew back. “Stop.”

Clint squeezed his ass.

“Seriously, we—” The “can't” got swallowed up by a moan when Clint mouthed along his neck.

“I'll suck you off. No mess.”

Clint knew him too well. Phil really should say no. The team would know because they were all too perceptive. Having sex during a mission—well, post-mission, technically—didn't set a good example. But it was perhaps a little too late for that considering that Clint had followed Phil up the stairs to his office on the overnight flight to Norway. They had spent the night strategizing and finalizing details of their mission (not that anyone on the team believed that).

Phil sighed, and Clint grinned against his neck. “I'll make it worth your while,” Clint said in a tone holding so much filthy promise that Phil squirmed.

Considering Clint's teasing, Phil expected something rushed, on the side of rough, but Clint was exceedingly gentle with him. The bare hint of fingertips stroked over his cock until he was fully hard. His tongue followed; slow licks that dragged from root to head. When Clint finally closed his mouth over Phil's cock, he fell into a slow rhythm. It didn't build, didn't push. Just remained steady. Pleasure tingled through Phil.

“Clint, what,” he whispered.

Clint's hand climbed up to Phil's chest and spread over the place where the ugly scar sat.

Phil closed his eyes and floated. Allowed Clint to bring to the surface all the feelings he usually kept bottled up. The worries and uncertainties, but also the love he had for Clint. That most of all. And he let Clint hear. Gasps, moans, hitched breaths. All of it.

Phil's orgasm hit suddenly, without any change in what Clint was doing, washing over him with such intensity that his fingers trembled. Clint swallowed as he'd promised, and then carefully did up Phil's pants. 

When Phil tried to reach for Clint's belt, his hand was caught in a gentle grasp. “I'm okay.” Clint sprawled on top of Phil. “You can fuck me when we're back on the Bus.”

“Alright,” Phil mumbled, his arms closing around Clint's back. His thoughts were still hazy, but he managed to wonder what Clint would look like spread out on the pull-out couch in his office. Probably not a good example, either. Phil found he couldn't care. 

He snuck a hand underneath Clint's shirt, needing to feel the familiar dips and rises of his back, warm skin and scars. 

“I was thinking,” Clint started. “Maybe we could call each other every day. It's not the same as being together, but it's something, right?”

They talked on the phone occasionally. Texted more frequently because it took less time. “You mean set a specific time each day to talk?”

“Yeah. I think we could manage that, unless, you know, we're getting shot at.”

Phil smiled. “That happens far too often. But yes, I think that's feasible.”

Clint leaned up to press a kiss to his jaw. “Done. Details later, sleep now.”

They shifted until they had found a comfortable position for falling asleep. As Phil drifted off, he had to concede that he owed Stark a congratulatory email and an order for more sleeping bags.


End file.
